


Show A Little Faith

by minijhi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M, deals very lightly with the whole Horcrux and Voldemort business, it's probably a study on how badly i can write poetry before i give up, so what is this story even about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minijhi/pseuds/minijhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why are you sending me a singing Valentine telegram?" Kenma asks, mouth flattened.  "It’s six months until Valentine’s Day.”</p><p>“I bought a dwarf over the summer to use as cupid.” Kuroo says.  “I figured he could use some practice.”</p><p>-</p><p>Presenting Kenma as the Boy-Who-Lived, whose living becomes a lot more interesting when Ravenclaw Prince Kuroo Tetsurou starts sending him singing telegrams about defeating the Dark Lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Named after the song “Thunder Road” by Bruce Springsteen, which doesn’t make much sense except that the next line is /there’s magic in the night/ and it’s been stuck in my head all day, and if it wasn’t for this I really wanted to name the story “Cat, Owl or Toad.”
> 
> The first chapter might be a bit repetitive, but more stuff happens in the next two, promise! I also promise that this is not an emotional rollercoaster and should not leave you rolling around on the floor at two a.m.
> 
> Please don't fight me on the houses _you will win_

There’s a dwarf with golden wings sleeping on the ledge outside his window when Kozume Kenma wakes up the second week of his sixth-year at Hogwarts.

“Um.”  He says, because they are seven-hundred feet above sea-level and there is a dwarf with _paper_ wings outside his window.

The dwarf snores, pressing a fat cheek against the glass.  Kenma jumps and pulls his midnight-blue blanket up to his chin, watching the dwarf for any signs of a threat, but he remains asleep, dangled precariously outside the window. Eventually, when Kenma’s certain that the dwarf won’t wake (or fall), he pulls the blanket all the way over his head and slinks in the direction of the bathrooms.  He disposes the warmth and safety of his blanket at the foot of Akaashi’s bed, just as the others start to stir.

“What is that?”  Ennoshita asks, stifling a yawn with one hand and leaning over from his bed towards Kenma’s to regard the snoring oddity.  “Is that supposed to be a cupid?”

 

-

 

When Kenma gets out of his shower, everyone else is up, in various states of dressed.  His blanket is folded neatly beside his pillow.  Ennoshita, still half-dressed in pyjamas, is leaning out Kenma’s now open window.  The dwarf with paper wings is sitting on Kenma’s trunk looking bored, strumming a dwarf-sized harp.

“I have a singing telegram for Kozume Kenma.” The dwarf says when he sees Kenma, plucking a succession of notes.  Before Kenma can flee, Futakuchi grabs him by the back of his robes and thrusts him towards the dwarf.  “Right then.”  The dwarf says, clears his throat and begins to sing:

 

 _Some men ask for riches_  
_And others ask for fame_  
_You could give me piles of Galleons_  
_I’d deny them all the same_  
  
_There’s a gold that I want_  
_It’s a gold of its own_  
_The Golden Boy who conquered the Dark Lord_  
_(*background chorus* and my heart ~)_

 

Kenma cringes, staring at the dwarf as he flaps his badly cut wings and repeats the chorus with more exuberant harp action. Kenma steps back again, and this time no one stops him. 

“That’s terrible.”  Futakuchi says at the end of it, and the dwarf seems to agree. He bows at Kenma, nods at the others and stomps out of the room, paper wings crinkling behind him.

 

-

 

A tall, menacing figure is lounging at Kenma’s usual seat at the Ravenclaw table by the time he goes down for breakfast. Kenma sighs, trailing his eyes down the table for somewhere else to sit, but it’s pointless.  It’s either endure Kuroo or sit with the new first-years, who will look at Kenma with wide-eyes and whisper “There he is, it’s The-Boy-Who-Lived” and “Kozume?  Kozume Kenma?  The boy who defeated You-Know-Who?”

Kenma hates being stared at, but it seems Voldemort had known that even years ago.  After Voldemort had tried and failed to kill him as baby, he had left Kenma with a curse anyway: permanent, brilliant streaks of gold in his dark hair, as if he’d been struck by lightning.  Even the Muggles, who knew nothing of Boys-Who-Lived and Dark Lords, always stared at Kenma whenever he was back home for the summer.

“What did you think?”  Kuroo Tetsurou, Quidditch captain and Ravenclaw prince asks, smirk climbing up his face when Kenma reluctantly walks up to him.

“It didn’t even rhyme.”  Kenma tells him, sitting down in the next available spot.  “Move your elbow, Kuroo.”

Kuroo moves his elbow.

“It was my first song.”  Kuroo says.  “Not too bad, though, right?  You liked it?  I made the wings myself.”

“I could tell.”  Kenma says, mouth flattened.  “Why are you sending me a singing Valentine telegram? It’s six months until Valentine’s Day.”

“I bought a dwarf over the summer to use as cupid.” Kuroo says.  “I figured he could use some practice.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the law.” Kenma says, but Kuroo just shrugs, reaching over to steal half a slice of toast from Kenma’s plate.

“What do you want.”  Kenma says.

“You remember Voldemort?”  Kuroo says.  “The guy who’s threatening to take over the world? The guy who murdered your parents? The guy you’re supposed to kill? That guy?”

“Kuroo, you’re being insensitive.”  A voice whines and Kenma turns around to see the decidedly un-Slytherin Head Boy Oikawa Tooru.  Oikawa seizes the other half of Kenma’s toast and says, with his mouth full, “We were supposed to coax him gently.”

“You decided to coax him gently.”  Kuroo says.  “I’m going to seduce him into defeating Voldemort.”

“You might want to try a love potion.” Ennoshita says. “Kenma wasn’t very impressed by your singing telegram this morning.”

Oikawa whirls onto Kuroo.  “You sent that?  I thought you were joking!  Please tell me you at least removed the high chorus about conquering your heart.”

“I removed the high chorus about conquering his heart.” Kuroo lies, straight-faced. To Ennoshita, he says, “I thought about that, but I wasn’t sure it would work.  Remember when Mad-Eye taught Defense Against the Dark Arts? He tried to put Kenma under the Imperius curse and make him jump onto a desk but Kenma decided it was too much trouble and just sat there?”

“Oh, that’s right.”  Ennoshita says, smiling fondly in a far-off manner. “Carry on, then.”

“Thanks.”  Kuroo says, turning back to Kenma.  “So, as you know, Kenma, we’re living in a very perilous time. Every week there are more and more reported cases of missing half-bloods, and the Ministry was raided just last week.  The Dark Mark had been sighted in at least six different countries over the summer, and the centaurs even came out of the forest to talk to Dumbledore.  And this is all because of one guy. Voldemort, you recall, who you’re supposed to have a burning hatred for, and avenge your parents by killing the different parts of his soul?”

Kenma sighs.  “Too much effort.”

“But Kenma-kun, don’t you feel rage and anger at all the cruelty he has inflicted upon us?”  someone sobs.

“Don’t you feel an unquenchable desire to right all the wrongs in the world?”  a second voice says, with just as much passion.

Kuroo, Kenma and Oikawa all turn back to look towards Ennoshita, and find Gryffindors Nishinoya and Tanaka standing over his shoulder, eyes glassy with fake tears and shaking their fists towards the ceiling of the Great Hall.  Akaashi rolls his eyes, smoothing out the page of the Daily Prophet he is reading. Horoscopes, possibly.

Kenma blinks.  “Not really.”  He says, and they visibly deflate.  Ennoshita feeds them both a slice of bread without looking up, and they stop pouting at Kenma and shaking their fists to eat. 

Kuroo sighs.  “Maybe we should just ask Ushijima to do it.”  Kuroo says.  “Maybe Voldemort chose the wrong baby.”

Kenma brightens.

Oikawa scowls, a storm brewing beneath his perfect exterior.  “I’m sure Kenma-chan can defeat the Dark Lord if he puts his mind to it.”  He says sweetly.  He pats Kenma on the back.  “I have faith in you, okay, Kenma?”

 

-

 

Two days later, the faux-cupid is back with another singing telegram, and ambushes Kenma in the middle of a crowded corridor. Kenma’s better prepared this time, but he only makes it as far as the next corridor before he runs straight into Hinata and the both of them fall to the ground.

“I have a telegram for Kozume Kenma.” the dwarf says again, sounding not at all apologetic nor surprised that he’d chased Kenma down an entire moving corridor.  Kuroo has added an angel’s halo around the dwarf’s head, and it hangs lopsided off one ear. Sugawara Koushi fixes the halo without a backwards glance as he steps past them and into his classroom.

 

 _When you were born, so small, so sweet_  
_Your eyes were blue as thunder_  
_At once He knew you were a threat_  
_It’s true: you set my heart asunder_

 

The corridor explodes into tiny giggles, students jostling at one another to look at Kenma.  Kenma sighs, picking up his scrolls and swinging his bag over his shoulder again.  The students scatter for him, probably remembering that Kenma is _a threat_.  Hinata scrambles after him until they stand in an empty stairway, blinking at one another.

“Were you born with blue eyes?”  Hinata inquires, after a pause.

 

- 

 

“It rhymed this time.”  Kuroo says proudly, when Kenma goes down for lunch and Kuroo is at his seat again.  He’s brought more seventh-years, Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Sawamura.  Nishinoya and Tanaka are practically conjoined to Ennoshita on the other side of the table, and Hinata is perched on Kenma’s right. “Did you like it?”

“There are house tables, you know.” Kenma says, scowling at his lack of a fork, the offending object now in Kuroo’s mouth.  “Normally having different tables for each house suggests that the students of those houses _sit at those tables_.”

“Please, take them.”  A fifth-year named Tsukishima says as he passes the carnival on his way to the Slytherin table.  “Take them all.”

Kenma ignores the jibe, because the last time he’d been in a room when Tsukishima had interacted with Kuroo, the entire room had been put into detention.  Instead, he turns back to Kuroo.  “Don’t you have other things to do?”  Kenma asks testily.  “Like, study, maybe? I hear there’s something called the NEWTs this year.”

Kuroo’s grin gets impossibly wider, and he lets Tsukishima slip away without opening fire.  “Study?  Kenma, there are far more important things to worry about than exams.  For example, if you continue doing nothing at all to thwart Voldemort, he’ll probably destroy Hogwarts and we won’t be able to take the NEWTs.” 

“So you know,”  Kuroo continues, “If you really want me to study, you should look into defeating You-Know-Who.  It’d be like killing two owls with one brick.” 

Across the room at the Gryffindor table, Bokuto Koutarou looks up.

“Two birds with one stone, Kuroo-san.” Akaashi corrects, and appeased, Bokuto turns back to his food.

 

-

 

Week three goes something like this:

**Monday**

_Gryffindors are red_  
_Ravenclaws are blue_  
_Cauldron cakes are sweet_  
_And so are you_  
 

**Tuesday**

_In the morning mist, in break of dawn_  
_In this dreams that come in slumber_  
_To the Ravenclaw tower on a Saturday night_  
_My beating heart does wander._  
 

**Wednesday**

_Broomsticks and kettles_  
_Newts and were-bears_  
_Where can I find_  
_A saviour that cares?_  
  
_I’ve looked in the fire_  
_And under the rug_  
_But all I have found_  
_Is my broken heart._  
 

   
**Thursday**

 _If a smile could start a battle_  
_If a face could wage a war_  
_I’d build an entire army_  
_And have you show up at His door_

 

**Friday**

_Another case of breaking-in_  
_More wizards have gone into hiding_  
_Oh Chosen-One come to the rescue_  
_Just try once_  
_And if it doesn't work I’ll talk to Ushijima again_  
 

(“He’s becoming less and less subtle, isn’t he?” Ennoshita notes.)

 

-

 

“How does he even come up with so many terrible songs in one week?”  Kenma fumes as he ducks under a low-hanging ghost and heads out of the castle. Hinata is with him, a picnic basket under one arm as they try to make the most of what’s left of summer. 

“Um,”  Hinata says guiltily.  “He has help. He’s roped in a bunch of people to write drafts or edit his drafts and find rhyming words.”

Kenma stops abruptly, turning to look at Hinata. A few first-years skitter out of the way.  “A bunch of people?” he repeats.

“Mostly the students who were in the DA last year.” Hinata says.  “We— I mean, _they_ are very invested in saving the wizarding world.”

Kenma regards the idea with distaste. “Please tell me you didn’t write one of those.”

“ _I didn't_.”  Hinata says.  “He didn’t use mine. I was a little confused when writing them.  His, um, directions are kind of vague.  It’s like he’s not sure if he’s trying to get you to fall in love with him or to fight Voldemort.”

 

 -

 

The problem with being a Ravenclaw when Kuroo Tetsurou is a Ravenclaw is that Kenma has absolutely nowhere to hide in the Tower that Kuroo cannot find him.  After one week of Kuroo discovering him in every single hiding spot in the Ravenclaw Tower, Kenma gives up and spends the next week in the common room with Akaashi and Ennoshita.  Instead, as it turns out, Kuroo walks right past him when he enters the common room and proceeds to spend a very long afternoon playing hide-and-seek with himself in the more remote parts of the tower. 

“There you are, Kenma.  I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”  Kuroo says, finally swooping down on Kenma when he’s reading by the fireplace in the common room. Akaashi looks up absently from practicing some spells, but takes barely one look before he’s back at his homework.

Oikawa and Bokuto are with Kuroo today, and somehow nobody else seems to mind that there is a Slytherin and a Gryffindor in the Ravenclaw Tower.  In fact, a few of the younger students are inching closer to them, eyes riveted on Oikawa. 

Kenma sinks into his seat, lifting the book higher to hide his face.  Kuroo plonks down onto the footstool in front of Kenma, pushing the book down. “This is serious, you can’t just avoid him and hope he’ll go away.” 

“Clearly.”  Kenma grouses. 

“You’re the Chosen One.”  Kuroo says.  “Even if you don’t care about that, the prophecy says that you’re the only one who can kill Voldemort, and he’s going to come for you again. Some second-years handled him fine when you were a first-year.  I can understand that, you were a first-year.  So okay.  You’re welcome, by the way.”  Kuroo lifts a palm and Oikawa high-fives it.

“Second year, there’s the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco, but I guess you kind of helped, when you opened the Chamber of Secrets for Nishinoya and Tanaka, even though you left right after that.”

“Third year, Akaashi—”  Kuroo tilts his head to look at Akaashi adoringly, “—wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Akaashi, with his head screwed firmly onto his shoulders—”

Akaashi casts a Silencing charm on Kuroo.

 

- 

 

Kuroo finds Kenma again in the library later in the evening after the Silencing charm has worn off.  “Wow.”  Ennoshita says. “He never gives up, does he?”

“In fourth year,”  Kuroo says the moment he sits down, as if they’d been halfway through conversation, “there was the Triwizard Tournament.  Somehow you make it through the first two tasks and the maze, and when Voldemort portkeys you guys to the graveyard you get Ushijima to duel him while you sit there and chat with your dead parents—” 

Kuroo pauses.  “Am I really getting this right?  It sounds even more ridiculous when I say it out loud.”

Actually, Kenma just sat there and played a dating sim while his parents talked to him, and after Voldemort had fled, Ushijima sat down beside him and they had all played the game together while waiting to be rescued.  But Ushijima was adamant that no one else every found out about that part. 

“Whatever.”  Kuroo says.  “In fifth year—”

 “I liked fifth year.”  Kenma says.  “Nothing much happened.  That pink woman came and left.”

Kuroo looks at him in disbelief.  “Did you live under a nutshell?”  he says.  “Fifth-year was the most exciting year yet.  The whole school changed that year. Almost everyone started acknowledging that the Dark Lord was a threat and preparing for battle through outright rebellion or secret underground cults!  How did you live through that and think _nothing much happened_?” 

“I think you mean ‘in a nutshell’.” Kenma corrects. “There were a lot of rules, I guess, but it wasn’t anything I was interested in doing anyway.”

“The term you are both looking for is ‘under a rock’.”  Akaashi says. “And you need to keep your voices down before Madam Pince comes over.” 

Kenma sighs and turns back to his essay.

“In any case,”  Kuroo says in a low voice now.  “It’s been an eventful five years for everyone except you, and you’re supposed to be the one doing these things.  You’re the Chosen One.”

“I’m sure you can _choose another one_.”  Kenma says flatly. 

“I’d always choose you.”  Kuroo says.  “You know I would.”

Lighting fast, Kuroo snatches Kenma’s quill out of his hand and writes ‘I’d always choose you’ onto his arm.  “Idea for my next telegram.”  he explains to Kenma.

“Stop sending me singing telegrams especially if you’re not even going to bother writing them yourself.”  Kenma says.

Kuroo’s eyebrows lift in amusement. “Sorry.  The DA was getting restless.  I’ll write them myself then, if you don’t mind waiting.”

 

-

 

A week-and-a-half later, Kuroo finishes his new poem and Kenma wakes up to a paper-winged dwarf at his window again.

 

 _Across the night sky, in the million stars_  
_They all pointed me here to you_  
_In some dying leaves, in a cup of tea_  
_I saw my fortune, you_  
  
_In a prophecy, on a winter’s night_  
_They said, ‘pick one from two’_  
_I’ve chosen once, I’ve chosen well_  
_In the end, I’d always choose you._

 

 Kenma shudders.  The dwarf, now familiar with the routine, nods amiably at them and lets himself out.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the answer to that last tag is I've already given up xD no bad poetry in this chapter. No good poetry either, unfortunately.

In the two weeks before Halloween, Kuroo finds a temporary new obsession and leaves him no less than seventeen copies of _The Beedle and the Bard_. Kenma runs across the book when he’s in the greenhouse for Herbology, buried under rows of Chomping Chillies; when he’s in the library, wedged in between the pages of a book he needs to read for Transfiguration; attached to the wings of the cupid-dwarf; when he’s walking to class, when he’s eating breakfast, when he’s in bed.

“What do you want?” Kenma demands, when the eighteenth copy nearly takes his eye out as it comes levitating towards him when he’s in an alcove in the Astronomy Tower. He’s playing a game that someone had wrapped neatly in red-and-gold paper and left on his bed, a game Kenma has been longing to play since it was released a few weeks ago but hadn’t had the chance to go to Diagon Alley to get. Kenma would have been touched, if it wasn’t for the fact that Ushijima didn’t live in the Ravenclaw Tower either and seriously, was no one staying in their respective houses anymore?

Kuroo watches the misted figures of the game move along the glass of the large astronomy window, reaching over to touch one of the dancing sheep, abruptly ending Kenma’s game. Kenma hits the replay button and shrinks the game down to a single panel of frosted glass, glaring at Kuroo.

“What is with this book?” Kenma asks, moving his shoulder so Kuroo can’t reach his screen.

“You should read it.” Kuroo says. “It contains extremely important information on how to defeat You-Know-Who.”

Kuroo drops the book into Kenma’s lap, resting his chin on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma ignores him and keeps playing his game, going around the field of sheep back to the flower patch and gathering more ingredients for the potion he is trying to brew.

He collects pockets full of lemonweed, midnight sunflowers and raisins, before pausing. He needs one more item in order for the spell to work. It needs to be something soft, something that can collect the spell but not trap it. He’s tried sheep wool, but that hadn’t worked the last time and there’s nothing else in the field he can think of that might work.

Kuroo removes his head from Kenma’s shoulder, patting the book in Kenma’s lap. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” he says.

He’s almost halfway across the room, and Kenma’s all but forgotten he’s there when he stops and turns, mouth quirking at the corners. “There’s a spiderweb under the kitchen table.” He says to Kenma. “If you bring a large bay leaf and an opal to the spider, he’ll trade you his web for them.”

Kenma blinks. He hadn’t thought of that. A spiderweb would be perfect. He hurries back to the kitchen and trades the leaf and opal for the spiderweb, then returns to his study, gently weaving the spiderweb in a net at the bottom of the bowl. He shreds the petals of the sunflowers and lemonweed, then pours in the salamader tears, diced butterfly wings and raisins.

The liquid in the bowl turns a milky yellow, emitting soft blue smoke. It’s the exact shade he wants.

Belatedly, Kenma tears his eyes away from the spell to glance towards the stairway, but Kuroo is gone, leaving behind only a book in Kenma’s lap and a strange warmth stirring in Kenma’s chest.

-

Kenma reads ‘The Tale of The Three Brothers’ approximately five-and-a-half times on Halloween night, and the next morning, when everyone is recovering from the night’s activities in their beds, he creeps down to the library and pulls out every book he can think of to help him on his quest.

“Oh my God, it worked.” Kuroo says, when he finds Kenma a few hours later, under a pile of books and scrolls, quill writing by itself as Kenma compares a map of the Hogwarts grounds alongside a chart of the different things that have vanished in the Forbidden Forest over the past one-hundred-and-thirty years.

Looking exceptionally pleased with himself, Kuroo sits on the edge of the table, looking down at what the quill is writing. It takes only a minute before the smile abruptly dies.

“Oh my God.” Kuroo says. “It didn’t work at all, did it?”

-

“If you’re going to sit here all day watching me do research, you might as well help.” Kenma says, after the fifth day of Kuroo reading all his notes over his shoulder and shooting down all of Kenma’s ideas, but not bothering to add any of his own.

“Hmm.” Kuroo says, going back to reading _The Taming of the Peruvian Vipertooth_ , absently humming the tune of Kenma’s last singing telegram under his breath.

“I should have suspected,” Kuroo says, “when I gave you the book, that of all the objects to be obsessed with, you would have fixated on the _Invisibility Cloak_."

“It’s the best of them all.” Kenma says noncommittally, crouching down under the table to mark another spot on the map he is drawing.

“That depends.” Kuroo’s voice says from above the table. “Are you ever planning on using it to evade Death or just other students?”

Kenma withdraws his head from under the table, reaching for _Mysterious Magicks and Their Solutions_. Kuroo hands it to him. “That depends.” Kenma says. “Are you ever planning on studying for your NEWTs?”

Kuroo’s laughter is rich and warm. He turns another page in his book. Kenma ducks back under the table, chewing on the end of his quill.

-

In between classes, Quidditch season and students generally behaving rowdier than usual, it takes Kenma three whole weeks to pinpoint the location of the Invisibility Cloak, involving piles of books and Kuroo being _no help at all_ and numerous trips into the forest through an underground tunnel.

In the Great Hall, the Ravenclaw table has become so crowded that half the people end up sitting in each other’s laps. Ennoshita good-naturedly accepts Nishinoya, Tanaka and Asahi to his side of the table, and somehow they all find a way to fit on the bench, sandwiched between Oikawa and Hinata. Sawamura and Sugawara, at least, seem to be approaching the space constraints with optimism, whereupon Iwaizumi looks like he has no idea what he’s doing there. After the second week, Futakuchi shoots the entire table a nasty look and promptly moves to join the Hufflepuffs.

And then, as if Futakuchi hadn’t made the valiant sacrifice of his seat so they could at least have breakfast without accidentally elbowing someone’s fork into their throat, Haiba Lev seizes the empty spot, ignoring the miffed looks everyone is sending him.

“Hey, Kenma, so I’ve been thinking—” Lev says. “If you want me to be your Second in the duel against Voldemort, I’ll do it.”

Kuroo chokes on his glass of milk.

“I know I haven’t been the most supportive person in your mission to overthrow Voldemort and become Minister of Magic,” Lev says seriously, “but that’s because I didn’t know about it until now, and I truly support your goals. If it will make you feel better to know someone will take your place if you die, I will.”

Kuroo keeps choking, and Kenma hopes he dies.

“Lev.” Kenma says. “Please. Leave me alone and study for your OWLs.”

Lev tilts his head, considering. “If you don’t defeat Voldemort, there might not be OWLs though.” he says and Kuroo starts cackling.

Kenma closes his eyes and stops himself from hexing Kuroo just as McGonagall and Dumbledore walk past their table.

“We could have a study group! You could teach us school stuff as well as things we need to know to defeat Voldemort! It’s like that two owls and a brick thing—” Lev cheers, and Kenma thinks he hears Akaashi go ‘oh merlin’ under his breath.

“Kenma’s tons of smart.” Hinata agrees. “He can teach anyone anything.”

“Shouyou, no—” Kenma says, but it’s too late.

“You know, in all my years at Hogwarts, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such outstanding interhouse unity.” McGonagall remarks to Dumbledore.

-

 

“I’m playing Slytherin tomorrow.” Kuroo says to Kenma later that evening, upside down in an armchair and watching his patronus dance around the common room.

Kenma watches the bright snow leopard out of the corner of his eye, somewhat jealous that Kuroo’s happy memories are so strong that he can make a patronus last for an entire hour. “You should come. I might even win the Quidditch cup for you if I know you’re watching.”

“Not interested.” Kenma says, and checks the temperature of the forest. The moon will be at its peak in a week’s time, and that’s the highest chance he’ll have of finding an invisible cloak in the middle of the forest at night. None of this will be any use to him, however, if the river ends up turning to ice. Fortunately, there seems to be a small window where the moon will be at its brightest and the river frigid but not frozen.

Kenma marks down the date in his planner. He ends up agreeing to go to Kuroo’s match too, somehow, because when he looks down at his calendar, he doesn’t really have anything else to do but wait.

-

Exactly a week later, Kenma sneaks into the forest sometime before dinner with another game and diverts the current of the riverbed, careful to make sure he doesn’t disrupt the balance of the forest any other way. He charms the water a vivid pink, turning the clear liquid a glittering shade of pink when viewed under the light of the full moon. He scoops up several drops and grins when it practically glows in the palm of his hand.

He unfolds his blanket, spreading it over a tree stump and camps there with his game for several hours, casting a disillusionment charm over himself so he won’t attract unwanted attention. The night is chilly, and Kenma taps away at his game, hunched under his blanket, periodically casting warming charms and listening for the fleet of deer. Several Flitterby moths show up, attracted by his warmth, and he casts a small fire for them.

A little past ten, he hears the familiar sound of hooves against the forest floor. Putting out the fire and his game, he hurries over to the position he’s marked in the ground earlier, a small circle of stones in the dirt just beyond the river.

A low mournful cry sings over the treetops and Kenma’s skin runs cold. There is a faint cackle of static in the air and it sends goosebumps running through his arms. But there’s no time to doubt himself, within seconds the first hooves have broken through the clearing, kicking up dirt and frost. Kenma takes a deep breath, eyes fixed onto the pink river.

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” Kenma shouts, pointing his wand the moment he sees the shimmering pink liquid rising from the river like a wave, clinging to an invisible body. The few seconds that the deer fleet slows is all Kenma needs. He doesn’t move fast normally, but in that one moment Kenma does— he spins on his heel, feels his hands clasp around a soft, silky material and pulls.

For a breath, it is completely magical. As if orchestrated, the entire herd shows up in quick succession, each individual animal catching silver against the moonlight. The pink dye from the river has stopped being obnoxious, now blending in with the purple-blue of a midwinter night, resembling more a field of flowers in bloom than an intentional act of vandalization.

Kenma’s fingers tighten around the cloak just as the piercing cry rings through the forest again. Kenma snaps into focus as he recognizes the sound. He flicks his wand towards the herd of deer, scrambling for the front, and casting a series of sparks.

“Get out of here!” he says frantically, because something’s coming, and he doesn’t know what, and the deer are still acting like they’re at a picnic, acting like they’re on a leisurely, philosophical stroll in the forest at night, acting like they’re invisible, and _they’re not_.

“Move!” Kenma shouts, shoving at one, casting more sparks, and it’s the tone of his voice, more than anything else, that startles the herd. Kenma sees the trees rustling the tiny pattering of oncoming footsteps, and he throws the first spell he can think of the moment the creature breaks through the trees, black hands tearing at his throat, pulling him backwards into the water, into the dark, black water.

Kenma fights back, gasping out every spell he can think of even as he’s forced underwater, but his grip on his wand is loosening and he’s wasting precious oxygen trying to fight off the creature. His lungs are burning and there are thin, slimy hands around his neck. Kenma thrashes, using his wand like a knife and slashing it in front of him, and the creature retreats long enough for Kenma to suck in a quick breath before he’s thrown underwater again, his head spinning.

There’s a heavy weight on his shoulders, on his torso, a searing pain on his chest and suddenly he’s flung out of the water, colliding harshly with the cold earth. There’s a glowing, pink doe standing over the water, black creature now shredded over the wet rocks. The doe walks over to Kenma, eyes black and pensive.

“I’m sorry.” Kenma says, honest and true, but when he looks, he can’t even find the cloak to return it to the herd.

The doe regards him for a moment, and shakes her head so minutely Kenma might have imagined it. She waits.

“Thank you.” Kenma tries again. “For saving my life.”

There’s a tiny noise, and the deer scoffs at him, but it isn’t mean. It’s more like a laugh. ‘Now you’ve got it.’ she seems to say, and kicks snow in Kenma’s face when she flocks off without a care for the cloak she’s lost.

Kenma watches her join her beautiful, glowing herd as they circle beneath the trees, once, twice. Under the light of the full moon, Kenma realizes that he’s the first person to have seen this sight in more than a hundred years.

“Welcome back.” he says quietly.

He watches them until the last glitter of fur has vanished beyond the trees.

-

Kenma doesn’t know how long he sits there afterwards, staring at the torn-up remnants of the creature that could have killed him that night. He scans the river several times for the Invisibility cloak, but it’s vanished somewhere else, and Kenma doesn’t know how to start looking.

It ‘s long gone now— swept away by the current and probably picked up by some yet unidentified creature. It would take years of data before Kenma can even attempt to track a solid pattern again. He now has as much chance finding the cloak as he would if he just went around the Forbidden Forest grabbing at thin air.

The leaves crunch again in the distance and Kenma doesn’t have time to panic before Kuroo climbs through the thicket.

“There was a herd of glowing deer running around back there. Some of them were bright pink.” Kuroo says as he goes over to Kenma, acting as if he isn't wandering around the Forbidden Forest at nearly-midnight. He pauses, taking in Kenma’s appearance. “And so are you.”

Kenma makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, and Kuroo crouches down beside him, staring darkly at the bruises Kenma is sure have appeared around his neck. Kenma turns away, dropping his head into his arms.

Kuroo’s going to be so angry. Kuroo thinks these things about Kenma, thinks that Kenma’s good and strong and going to save the world, but see, Kenma’s _not_. He has no intention of being anyone’s hero, and instead he expends his effort only in coming out in the forest here alone on a quest for something that can help him get away with being even more useless— Kenma feels the burning sensation build up in his throat again and just curls farther up into a ball.

“I’m sorry.” Kuroo says, and Kenma’s so startled he looks up, meeting Kuroo’s gaze through damp eyelashes. He doesn’t know if it’s water or tears.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’m sorry.” Kuroo repeats, and he looks like he’s the one about to cry. He drops to his knees beside Kenma, draping a thick, warm coat across his shoulders, pulling it close around Kenma. It feels like a hug, and Kenma feels the tears prickling at his eyes again. He leans in towards Kuroo, trembling and the older boy pulls him the rest of the way.

“It’s my fault.” Kuroo says. “I made you do this. I kept sending you all those telegrams, I kept telling you that you had to fight Voldemort, I gave you the book. I think, I think I knew that it wouldn’t work but I didn’t know what else to do— but you hate people staring at you, don’t you? And I made it worse.”

Kenma closes his eyes, burying his face in Kuroo’s chest.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, but both of them can taste the partial lie. It’s not entirely Kuroo’s fault, though. Kenma has been reckless recently, talking to people, letting them stare, letting them come close to him. For a moment even, he’d let himself believe.

He’s so _stupid_ , Kenma thinks, and pulls away from Kuroo. He doesn’t want to save the world, doesn’t want to be the Chosen One, doesn’t want people to want things from him, doesn’t want to fall in love. He can’t do any of that. _He can’t_. He’s the boy who gets his parents killed, the boy who can’t even form a proper sentence around strangers, the boy who sneaks into the Forbidden Forest at night thinking he’s good enough for an Invisibility cloak and nearly gets everyone killed instead.

“You’re not stupid.” Kuroo says. Kenma pulls Kuroo’s coat over himself, face flushing. He wasn’t aware he had spoken.

“You didn’t say anything.” Kuroo says, shaking his head. “I just know what that look means. I’ve seen it on Oikawa’s face enough to know that I never want to see it on anyone ever again, especially not you.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I’m sorry I’m not Ushijima.” He says, at last.

“That’s not what I want from you.” Kuroo says sharply, but he doesn’t elaborate on what he wants either. Love, maybe. A saviour. Maybe both.

Kenma, cold, miserable and just so tired, doesn’t want to think about any of that. He lets Kuroo lead him back out of the forest and back to their dorms, and when he’s finally in bed, blanket pulled high over his head, he’s not thinking about anything at all.

-

The cold shivers don’t leave Kenma for several days, and he spends the entire week before Christmas holidays huddled under his cloak, furtively shuffling closer to Akaashi during classes and trying to leech off the other boy’s body heat.

There are no new telegrams, even though Hinata claims that the DA had been writing one especially for Christmas.

“I’ll get the script for you if you don’t.” Hinata promises, when he catches Kenma glancing over his shoulder one time too many. Kenma shakes his head. He isn’t looking for a paper-winged dwarf with a lopsided halo.

But he doesn’t find what he’s looking for either.

-

Cold air hits Kenma the moment he steps off the Hogwarts Express onto the platform. “Happy Christmas, Kenma!” Hinata shouts into Kenma’s ear. “Floo me, okay? Natsu still doesn’t believe I know you, and she’ll have a fit if you show up! You have to come, Kenma!”

Kenma wants to comment that putting one’s sister in a fit isn’t exactly in the ideal spirit of Christmas cheer, but the younger boy is gone, sprinting off into the crowd Hufflepuff scarf whipping merrily behind him in the wind.

Akaashi laughs and pats Kenma’s shoulder. “See you in three weeks. Have a great Christmas! I’ll send you a card from Italy.” He says, and then he, too, is gone.

Kenma scans the crowd for his aunt and uncle, but with excited students and adults swarming around the place, it’s impossible to see anyone, especially not with his height. The puffs of cold smoke do nothing to help.

Resignedly, Kenma drags his trunk onto a trolley, nearly tripping over himself when the trolley slides away. A hand catches him from behind, and Kuroo drops the trunk onto the trolley with a single hand.

“Thanks.” Kenma mumbles, blinking up at the older boy. He feels like he hasn’t seen Kuroo in years. The seventh-year looks worn, a little tired, but his smile is the same, even after the horrible night in the forest that Kenma has played over and over again in his head.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Kuroo says. He leans back, and Kenma sees that Kuroo’s other hand is holding a strange, lumpy package. He holds the package out to Kenma. “Here. I got you something.”

Kenma stares at the badly wrapped present.

“I figured you wouldn’t be the kind to take your time admiring the wrapping anyway. Open it.” Kuroo says.

Reluctantly, Kenma takes the package. It’s soft as well as lumpy, possibly a coat or scarf or winter sweater, which Kenma won’t say no to, because it’s starting to get really cold. He tugs at the ribbons and spellotape, tearing the wrapping paper open, and an odd, shimmery black cloth falls into his hands. Kenma blinks, running a hand through the fabric, and then he blinks again, eyes going wide.

He knows what this is. He’s felt this material before, seen the same shimmery silver surface less than a fortnight ago, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest before it was wrenched from his grip.

“Merry Christmas, Kenma.” Kuroo says.

“Kuroo—” Kenma begins, looking up and meeting Kuroo’s gaze. Kuroo’s eyes are dancing, fond and pleased, and Kenma loses all ability to speak, pulling the Invisibility cloak closer to his chest as he stares at Kuroo.

However, Kuroo smiles like Kenma had wished him a Merry Christmas _and_ a Happy New Year, ghosts a hand gently through Kenma’s hair and vanishes in the bustling crowd and steam of the train station.

 _Oh,_ Kenma thinks, blinking hard. _Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God it is done. I am so sorry I did not mean for it to take this long! I’ve spent such a long time trying to write this and I still wasn't happy with it, but instead of sitting on it for another year, I’m going to just put it out here! I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Warning: There is a scene that is potentially similar to a suicide attempt + panic attack later in this chapter. It's quite brief and not what it seems, but if that worries you, when you find Kenma standing alone in a third-floor classroom, skip to the next section break and you should be fine.

Kenma spends the three weeks back home over the Christmas holidays mostly avoiding extended conversations with guests with a polite, “Yes, I’ve been sitting here all night, you must not have noticed me,” and it is the best Christmas he remembers in a very long time.

He returns to school in an unusually good mood, and the good mood persists throughout the first few weeks of the quarter, when no one gapes at his hair and Kuroo only sends him one-and-a-half singing telegrams.

School becomes a welcome relief with the help of the Invisibility Cloak, and more often than not, Kenma sneaks up to the Astronomy Tower after hours to play his games on the large glazed-glass windows. Sometimes Kuroo sneaks out after him, sometimes Kenma sees him coming on the map, but instead only hears the screaming of “STUDENTS IN THE HALLWAY! STUDENTS AFTER DARK!”

Most of Kenma’s life is centered around peace and calm and routines, but as far as changes go, Kenma doesn’t mind this change so much. 

It’s been a long time coming then, when it finally happens: late one night, when Kenma is doing his homework in the common room under the Invisibility Cloak. His face is pressed so close to his papers that he almost doesn't notice he has company until someone nearly steps on him. Kenma muffles a yelp and slides away just in time.

“Hey.” Kuroo says to thin air, grinning. His hair is windswept and messier than usual, his cheeks pink from the cold. He drops his broom onto the carpet next to the armchair and crosses his legs over Kenma’s homework, no longer hidden under the cloak. Kenma winces.

“Kenma.” Kuroo says. “Come on. Talk to me a little. I’ve missed you.”

Kenma glances around the room. It’s late and there’s only two other people left in the room, a couple half-hidden behind the curtains of the window seat on the other end of the room. Kenma reluctantly pulls the cloak off. “How did you know I was here?” he asks, and Kuroo brightens at the sight of him.

Kuroo waves a hand. “You’ve moved the armchair and coffee table to the very side of the room. I know for a fact Shimizu just moved it back a couple of hours ago. You should leave her a note, she thinks Peeves is doing it.”

“Maybe it was Peeves.” Kenma says, annoyed.

“Maybe.” Kuroo says, unconcerned. He looks down, smiling at something at the floor by Kenma’s feet. “But also, your cat was showing.”

Kenma looks down as Berlioz guiltily extricates his teeth from chewing onto Kenma’s sock and nuzzles against Kenma’s leg. Kenma bites back a smile, sitting on the floor and letting Berlioz climb into his lap, scratching the back of the cat’s ears as he purrs happily. When he looks back at Kuroo, Kuroo is watching him with a strange look on his face.

“What?” Kenma says.

Kuroo shrugs a shoulder, stretching out on the armchair so his legs are dangling over one armrest. He’s still watching Kenma though, something in his eyes that Kenma cannot put words to.

Kenma turns away abruptly, tugging his homework out from under Kuroo’s socked feet. He’s hoping to finish writing this paper tonight so he can watch Hinata work on his Care of Magical Creatures project tomorrow. The fifth-year is training a small aviary of dark-coloured birds in the art of flight-performance, a project that started out as a detention and has now turned into an obsession.

For a very long moment, Kuroo is silent. Kenma bends over his paper, a curtain of silky hair hiding his face as he scratches his quill into the parchment, a misspelled jumble of steps for a transfiguration assignment that Kenma can’t even begin to focus on. He’s acutely aware of Kuroo sitting right beside him, sprawled out across the armchair, twirling his wand in circles in thin air.

Presently, Kuroo chuckles. Kenma stiffens and casts a subtle glance over at him, only to find that Berlioz has crawled out from Kenma’s lap and wandered over to Kuroo, mewing softly. Kuroo leans over, lifting the black cat up and dropping him onto his stomach, tickling the cat’s soft fur. 

“You know,” Kuroo says, apropos of nothing, “Oikawa has discovered my muggle hair gel and now he’s secretly bribing someone to steal it from my bathroom. My stash is running dangerously low.”

“I don’t really ca—” Kenma begins automatically, but pauses mid-sentence, looking up at Kuroo. “You style your hair to look like that?”

Kuroo’s laughter sends an unexpected shiver through Kenma. He clutches at the quill tightly, ruffling the feathers and bleeding ink through the parchment and into the table.

“You’re a beautiful cat, aren’t you?” Kuroo says, and Kenma sees the exact moment Kuroo’s gaze turns from fond to wicked. “Hey, I just got the gel back from Oikawa and I have some with me now. I’m sure in no time I could get you to look like me. What do you say to that?" 

Kenma’s eyes narrow as Kuroo twists the jar of hair gel open and sweeps a hand into Berlioz’s fur, brushing the black fur to stand up in an uncanny resemblance to bedhead. Berlioz just licks Kuroo’s hand and lets him.

“Kuroo.” Kenma says warningly.

“Kenma.” Kuroo says. “The Dark Lord is going to rise any day now. Let me live a little.”

Kenma sighs quietly, but turns back to his homework. Kuroo sprawls out comfortably in the armchair, working methodically at Berlioz’s fur. Silence falls again, and for a long time there is nothing but the sound of logs crackling in the fireplace. Kenma tries to resume writing, but like before, since the moment Kuroo had shown up, his mind has gone completely blank. Instead, his gaze trails to a spot on the carpet right by the feet of Kuroo’s armchair, and Kenma keeps his head down, eyes glued to the dark blue polyester. 

“It’s not just the wizarding world I’m worried about, you know.” Kuroo says softly from the armchair. An owl hoots outside in the distance, somewhere across the lake. Kuroo sits up, cross-legged, knees connecting with the arms of the chair as he stares at Kenma. “I really like you. I want you to live.”

Kenma breaks eye contact with the carpet, raising his gaze hesitantly.

Kuroo shoots him a crooked smile, but his eyes are serious. “I meant what I said in my telegrams. All of them. Even the ones I didn’t write.” He laughs a little, and Kenma watches the way his fingers twist gently at Berlioz’s fur, feeling his heartbeat pick up. Kuroo’s forced his way here, but somehow it feels like he belongs, and it leaves Kenma feeling unsettled, like he wants more, like he wants Kuroo to keep looking at him like that, like he wants to make Kuroo smile.

Kenma looks down at the carpet again, but even the purple stain of god-knows-what cannot distract him from Kuroo’s words. Kenma blinks at the floor. He doesn’t know why Kuroo bothers with all those poems, when there’s more poetry in his honesty than sixty drafts of DA telegrams have ever accomplished.

“What do you want?” he asks, when he finally dares to look at Kuroo again. “Shouyou’s right. You don’t even know if you’d rather I like you back or defeat Voldemort.”

“Both.” Kuroo says. “Both. But I thought it might be easier to get you to fight Voldemort than to fall in love with me, and I figured, after you defeated Voldemort, I’d have all the time in the world to get you to fall in love.”

Kuroo is right, Kenma finds. Kenma’s far less terrified at the prospect of defeating the Dark Lord than he is by the suspicious inkling that the feeling he gets when Kuroo’s around is not quite annoyance, after all.

“Don’t worry about it now, okay? We’ll have time later, once Voldemort’s gone.” Kuroo promises. “All the time in the world.”

Kenma bites down on his lower lip. He thinks about the invisibility cloak, suddenly heavy in his lap, Kuroo’s gaze on his and his unyielding faith in Kenma’s ability to live up to his name.

“You think I can really do it?” he asks. “Defeat him?”

“Yes.” Kuroo says, meeting Kenma’s gaze squarely. “I do.”

The common room is pin-drop silent, even the previously roaring fire holding its breath.

“Okay.” Kenma says, at last. “I’ll do it.”

 

-

 

“Boy-Who-Lived, Kozume Kenma, Seduced Into Goodness?” Kuroo reads from the Daily Prophet front page exactly a week later.

“Who took this picture?” Kuroo asks, smiling at the article. “I want them to send me a copy.”

Kenma glances to his right, where Ennoshita is reading the same article. The picture is nothing special, just one of the many Horcrux research sessions run overtime. The only difference is instead of in the library, they are lying outside in the grass by the Great Lake, and Kenma has fallen asleep by Kuroo’s side while reading a book. Spring had finally broken over the castle and for the first time in months, it had been warm enough for a picnic and nap. In the picture, Kenma is fast asleep, and Kuroo looks ridiculously happy, shooting Kenma covert glances over the top of his book, which Kenma now notices is _Quidditch, Quilting and Queens_.

“You weren’t even doing research!” Kenma says, turning to Kuroo.

“You were asleep.” Kuroo says. “I didn’t want to make any monumental breakthroughs without someone to witness them.”

Kenma rolls his eyes.

“It’s pretty cool though.” Hinata says. “The Prophet hasn’t said anything nice about anyone since Tsukishima Akiteru swallowed all those Fizzing Whizzbees in his third-year. Look, she even included a note about our meeting this Saturday.”

“Now that we’re all serious, we can talk about who you’re going to choose as your Second.” Lev says intensely from Hinata’s right, and Yaku gives a long-suffering sigh.

“Lev, you can kill Voldemort if you want to, I’m really not particular.” Kenma says, and Lev drops the bowl of treacle pudding down the front of his robes in excitement.

 

-

 

February slips into March, spring blooming all over the castle, and Kenma’s life is routine: just not the kind he’d been used to. Meals in the Great Hall have become loud and rowdy, the Ravenclaw table a flower garden of various colours, the perfect front of interhouse unity. Nishinoya and Tanaka reenact opening the Chamber of Secrets and slaying the Basilisk for anyone who is interested, Oikawa starts sweet-talking the house elves into making apple pie almost constantly, Kuroo writes his poems every Tuesday and Friday at dinner, asking things like “Do you think Kenma’s thoughts resemble a cloudless blue day or the eternally blue pacific more?”

“Cerulean, it sounds cooler than blue.” someone will suggest, and Kuroo will drum his fingers against the table and say, “Does anything rhyme with Cerulean?”

In between classes and meals and sneaking off to play games, Kenma’s in the library, or the Ravenclaw common room, or the Hufflepuff common room, where Hinata and Lev have started their own research community for well-meaning Hufflepuffs. Despite all his exterior calm, however, Kenma’s thoughts are nothing like a cloudless blue day nor the eternally blue pacific. Instead, Kenma’s mind is a quiet black box, tied with delicate strings, like a trunk clamped shut with a boggart inside, waiting to spill open with all his deepest fears. But those fears somehow just

vanish, _evanesco, gone_

when Kuroo does something like tickle his elbow with a quill and say, “Do you want to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

And that— well.

If eight times out of ten, Kenma’s head is a tangled net of darkness, one of the remaining two is a tangle of a different kind. Kenma watches the way Kuroo talks to his friends, watches the way he mangles quill after quill when he does research, the way Kuroo always has a book or two at hand, the sharp bones in his wrists, the strength in his every movement, muscles flexing beneath sun-browned skin, so sure, so certain, and the way he smiles, there’s really

STOP, Kenma has to tell himself, and the mental wall he slams up is just as jarring as a physical one. Later, Kenma, later.

He doesn’t have time for this. He really doesn’t.

 _Later,_ Kenma repeats to himself under his breath. Kuroo looks over, fingers curled between the parchments of their latest lead, and Kenma ducks his head. Because there’s no such thing as falling in love and saving the world at the same time, if it’s been done before, Kenma’s yet to hear of it but just.

Kenma wonders what kind of life he’s been thrown into, with prophecies and magic, a life where somehow it’s come to this: sixteen-years-old and his two main concerns are namely Dark Lords and first kisses. And while one is infinitely more important than the other, it’s becoming increasingly harder to tell which it is.

It’s not hard to like Kuroo, that’s the problem. Kenma chances upon a scene one day, lovely couple silhouette against the large windows swallowed in black and silver with nightfall, and the Gryffindor girl has her hands twisted around a box of Sugar Mice.

“Sorry.” Kuroo says, and he even _sounds_ it. He sounds so genuinely regretful, _she is a great girl and she deserves better and Kuroo is sorry but he cannot be that person_ and Kenma thinks, if you’re going to break someone’s heart, there’s no need to be so nice about it. 

“Why?” the girl asks. “Is it a house thing?”

“It’s not a house thing.” Kuroo says firmly. “Those days are over. It will never be ‘a house thing,’ and if anyone ever tells you it is, you take those Mice and shove them down his _pants_.”

Kuroo turns his head, and for a moment, Kenma is afraid Kuroo has seen him. But Kuroo doesn’t, just shifts his weight and trails a finger alongside the glass, and says, “I’m waiting for someone else.”

“Waiting?” she asks, blinking. Her eyes are pretty.

“He’s busy with something else right now. Something important.”

“More important than you?”

“Darling.” Kuroo says, “I don’t know who is feeding you all this information, but there is nothing in the world more important than love.”

Her brow furrows. Kuroo reads too many romance novels, Kenma thinks. Too many romance novels and self-help books. “You’re contradicting yourself, you know?” The girl says, and Kuroo laughs.

Finally she sighs, holding out the Sugar Mice. “It’s okay, I guess. You do what you have to. Do you want these anyway? I heard from Oikawa-san that they were your favourite. And your friend Kozume-san has a cat, doesn’t he?”

Kuroo takes the box gravely. “Indeed he does. We both appreciate it, Mariko-chan. Thank you.”

Kuroo is halfway down the corridor when she calls out again. Kuroo stops.

“Your friend, Kozume-san, he’s trying, isn’t he? To defeat You-Know-Who? I don’t know him very well, but will you wish him luck from me? I think he can do it. I— you’re both really smart. I’m rooting for you, okay?”

The smile breaking across Kuroo’s face makes Kenma’s breath stutter, and then the girl’s words catch up to him. He misses it as Kuroo sweeps back to the girl, lifting her in a huge, thankful hug, and instead stumbles back to the Ravenclaw Tower, his heart hammering against his chest. 

Oh my God, Kenma thinks, and he doesn’t know what to do. His heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his chest, and Kenma wants to say, ‘ _do it, go, jump while you can_.’ Because Kuroo’s in love with Kenma, they’re going to kill Voldemort, and one of these things is far more terrifying than the other.

He bursts into the dormitory, scrambling under his pillow for the book he’d been reading last night, his neat handwriting slanted from sleep and then panic. Kenma stares down at the latest pages of notes, reads _Horcrux Horcrux Horcrux_ and he knows, this is it. 

“Kenma?” Akaashi asks. “You okay?”

Ennoshita props himself up on his elbows to look at Kenma, a thin paperback book clutched in one hand. Research, Kenma realizes, somewhat detachedly. Everyone’s trying. “What’s happening?” Ennoshita asks.

Kenma unsteadily holds out last night’s notes over to Akaashi before he can change his mind. Before he can convince himself that he needs more time, that this isn’t safe, that this isn’t worth the risk.

This is everything now, Kenma thinks, and watches Akaashi silently read the list, eyebrows going higher and higher. There’s a prolonged silence in which Kenma can taste his heart on the back of his tongue.

_Do it, go, jump while you can._

“The Horcruxes.” he says. “I know where they are.”

 

-

 

Sometimes, Kenma learns, jumping is a leap of faith.

 

-

 

“— I’ve been practicing new spells for the duel with Voldemort, Yaku-san taught me all kinds of new tricks, do you want to see? Also, do you have someone in mind for the Head Auror when you become Minister of Magic, because Yaku-san would be really good at it, and I was talking to this painting of Ramses’ mother on the fourth-floor after Transfiguration on Wednesday, and she told me that back in her day, Yaku-san’s great-great-great-grandparents— ”

“Oh my God, Lev, stop.” Kuroo says, slapping his hand over Lev’s mouth, only to yelp and wrench backwards a moment later, nearly falling backwards off the desk he’s sitting on. “He licked me! Oww, what the hell?” 

“Acid pops.” Lev says proudly, showing them his tongue, which has a huge hole burnt straight through it. It’s a wonder he can speak at all.

Disgusted, Kuroo wipes his hand on Lev’s robes, inspecting his palm to make sure it isn’t going to be burnt off. When he’s finally satisfied with it, he flounces off pitifully to Kenma.

“This is the guy you’re letting fight Voldemort?” Kuroo asks, sinking into a chair beside Kenma. “This guy? What are you going to do, lick Voldemort to death?”

“As expected from the person who thinks the spell Levicorpus was named after him.” Ennoshita says.

Lev makes a face at them both. “You suggested Expelliarmus the other day!  To defeat Voldemort!  How is that any better than licking him?”

“Stop.” Kenma says. He hands a copy of the Horcrux list to Lev. “If you’re going to kill Voldemort, you’ll need the Elder Wand.”

As Lev studies the list, eyes growing wide with glee, Kuroo pulls Kenma’s chair over to him so he can lean in to speak to Kenma. “We’re doing well.” he says, and Kenma has to remind himself not to watch the way the smile curves on his lips. “I’m really happy.”

“Mm.” Kenma says. He can practically feel Kuroo’s breath against his hair, they’re so close. He waves his hand towards the door, batting Kuroo away in a manner he hopes seems accidental. “Isn’t someone getting the diadem today?”

“Yeah, I told Oikawa to send some of the older students to the Room of Requirement this morning. They should be back soon.” Kuroo says, pulling back from Kenma and kicking his feet onto the desk.

“And here we are!” Oikawa’s voice chirps from the doorway.

Kenma turns around and immediately regrets it.

“Oikawa-san, are you wearing the Lost Diadem?” Akaashi asks faintly.

“It’s not lost now!” Oikawa says, striking an ungainly pose. “Presenting Rowena Ravenclaw’s original diadem, Horcrux included!”

“He’s been wearing it since we got out of the Room.” Iwaizumi says, showing up into the classroom behind Oikawa. His tie is slightly crooked, and he fixes it with a twist of his fingers. “I’m not sure it’s actually the right one, considering it’s clearly not making him any smarter.”

“Hey!” Oikawa protests, undeterred. “It looks good on me though, doesn’t it? I’m quite sorry we have to destroy it." 

“Do you know how you’re going to destroy it?” Ennoshita asks. He’s perched by a window seat with his copy of the list on one knee, and offers, “The Sword of Gryffindor is in Noya and Tanaka’s room, if you want to borrow it. They’ve been using it to prop the bathroom door open since the Chamber of Secrets.”

Kenma glances over to see that Ennoshita is being completely serious, and takes a moment to question why he’s surrounded by people who treat their brooms better than they treat Hogwarts relics. Kuroo grins at him, as though reading his mind. 

“Oh, that’s okay, we’ll use Fiendfyre.” Oikawa says. “That would work, right?” 

“Do you know how to cast it?” Kuroo asks with an impressed whistle. 

“Casting it isn’t the problem, do you know how to stop it?” Akaashi points out.

“Oh pfft.” Oikawa says. “I’ve been conjuring and controlling Fiendfyre since I was ten. The Slytherins use it to roast marshmallows in the dungeons every Friday. I’ll just bring the diadem along with me the next time.”

“That’s unfortunately true.” Iwaizumi confirms.

Kenma sighs. They might be idiots, but they’re also ridiculously powerful. What would Voldemort think if he knew his Horcruxes were being destroyed by bathroom door-stoppers and in marshmallow bonfires, Kenma wonders. 

“We’re alright then.” He says. “We just need the Elder Wand. Lev?”

But Lev has scampered off, already on task for the wand and to secure his chances of defeating Voldemort.

“One day, curiousity is going to let that cat out of the bag.” Kuroo says, shaking his head. Akaashi casts a despairing look skyward and holds his tongue. Kenma smiles despite himself.

“So,” Oikawa says, ducking his head down to eye Kenma’s list, diadem sliding off his head. Kuroo fixes it with a ‘tsk’ and sits on Kenma’s other side. “who wants to rob a bank?”

“Maybe you should try talking to them.” Akaashi suggests.

“You could sweet talk your way into the vault.” Ennoshita says.

“I’ll write them a poem.” Kuroo says.

“No. Your last poem was— I couldn’t sleep for days.” Oikawa says. “I’ll write my own poem. Come on, Iwa-chan. Let’s go practice sweet nothings.”

“What.” Iwaizumi says, but follows Oikawa out the classroom anyway.

Kuroo laughs as they go, smiling fondly. “What’s left?”

“Just two. One of them is Nagini, Voldemort’s snake. We’ll have to deal with it during the Great Battle.”

“And the other?” Kuroo asks.

Kenma’s already deep in thought about it. “I’ll handle it.” He tells Kuroo. “I’ll get this one.”

Kuroo reaches over and ruffles his hair. “I’m really proud of you.” He says, and Kenma feels warmth creeping up to his flushed cheeks.

“I’ve got to go to class.” Kenma mumbles, seizing his bag and escaping out into the corridor, where Oikawa and Iwaizumi seem to be practicing a lot more than sweet nothings.

Kenma heads to class almost twenty minutes early, but if he stayed any longer, Kuroo would have killed the other Horcrux with that smile, without even knowing it.

 

-

 

Kenma’s rather proud of how quickly he’s gotten over the fact that he is one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. While the other students were retrieving and destroying the rest of the Horcruxes, Kenma spends every night rereading his worn-out copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ , cramming notes into the margins and sneaking down to the potions lab under the Invisibility Cloak.

Five days after Oikawa’s charmed his way into a high security Gringotts vault (Kenma doesn’t ask) and two days after the weekly Slytherin marshmallow campfire, Kenma senses a crackling static in the evening air and calls the entire DA together for one last meeting.

There are at least forty people crammed into the tiny classroom, piled on top of one another, knees and elbows touching, coloured ties mingling in the sea of black robes. Half-a-year ago, Kenma would never have expected any of this. Half-a-year ago, Kenma didn’t think it was possible, would have given anything for a quiet life, the quietest. 

Forty people staring at him on what will be written down as one of the most important nights in wizarding history is not the kind of life Kenma is looking for.

And yet.

“I am,” Kenma begins, and swallows tightly as he looks around at all the faces staring back at him.

Hinata smiles at Kenma from the front row.

“I am very grateful to all of you.” He says, and bows deeply. “Please be careful tonight.”

Whatever Voldemort tries to do tonight, it will never compare to what they’ve already accomplished.

It hits him like a second bolt of lightning, the fact that every single person in this room matters to him, in one way or another, and Kenma hates attention, hates having to work for things, hates having to try, but for some reason, he wouldn’t trade this moment for all the silence in the world.

 

-

 

The castle is in chaos. Kenma can’t tell if they’re about to fight Voldemort or play the Qudditch Cup finals, the excitement is the same. The younger students skitter around the floor, cheerleading with enthusiasm, and several of them are making signboards that read “BOY, Keep Living” and “You Got No Soul, Voldie” and the worst, an impressively striking banner that hangs down two floors and reads “Smells Like Hogwarts Spirit : Wish You Could Smell It”

Kenma winces at the banners, sneaking back to the almost empty Ravenclaw Tower.  He enters his dorm quietly, collecting the finished product of several sleepless nights of research and experimenting: a red vial that he’s been keeping under his bed. It goes into his pocket, right beside his wand, important and safe at all costs.

When he exits the Ravenclaw Tower, he sees Kuroo leading a rallying war cry down the corridor, cheering and hooting and singing far too loudly.  Just before he turns around the corner, he turns back to meet Kenma’s gaze. Kenma gives him what he hopes is a convincing thumbs-up, and Kuroo’s entire face lights up. 

‘See you later,’ Kuroo mouths.

 _Later._ Kenma blinks, suddenly dizzy, and Kuroo vanishes out of sight with at least fifteen other students yelling their own respective battle hymns behind him.

“Want a scarf?” a tiny Hufflepuff boy asks Kenma, holding out the blue and yellow scarf timidly. Kenma stops to look at him, and the boy withdraws back against the wall, as if afraid Kenma’s about to practice his killing curse, but he’s still holding the scarf out to Kenma.

He used to look like this, Kenma thinks. Or. No. This boy’s a lot braver than Kenma ever was. He looks back at the tiny, hopeful face and smiles, wrapping the scarf around his neck. It’s delightfully soft, like a cloud.

“It’s great.” Kenma says, and the boy goes a hundred shades pinker. “Thank you.” 

Kenma noses against the scarf, eyebrows lifting slightly as he sees the words “The Great Battle” stitched into the fabric. Ah. Tugging at the scarf so the words are covered, he glances back down at his map, looking for an empty wing of the castle and spots it, a third-floor classroom slightly removed from the Slytherin dungeons. With the red vial in his pocket and the scarf around his neck, Kenma heads towards the classroom with a backwards wave at the boy.

There are worse ways to go.

 

-

 

Fifteen minutes later, Kenma realizes that while there are worse ways to go, that doesn’t make this one much better.

It seemed a lot easier when he first conjured the idea up in his mind. It had been fun, honestly, almost like a game, collecting ingredients and inventing a potion from scratch. It wasn’t easy making the potion, the Basilisk venom and Phoenix tears were particularly difficult to obtain, not to mention making sure that they didn’t neutralize the other’s effects immediately, but that was the hard part. This, this part is supposed to be easy. Kenma’s spent a lot of time making sure that it’ll be quick and painless, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that it’ll be anything other than.

Kenma’s hands tremble as he looks down at the vial again, the liquid inside it bright cherry red and translucent. It looks so harmless.

And it is. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s stupid to be afraid, he’s done everything right, left nothing to chance. His life doesn’t depend on height of the rising tide or the waning moon, it doesn’t depend on whether he can attack first or whether he can attack at all— those variables he’d left for someone else with the other Horcruxes, people who liked things like risk and reward and being a hero. All he needs to do, and really all he needs to do, is lift a potion to his lips and drink.

But he is afraid. He takes a deep breath, but his throat is too tight, starved for oxygen, and as he takes another struggling breath, he isn’t sure he’s able to stay alive even long enough to drink the potion that will kill him.

He’s standing here on the eve of the Great Battle and down to the last two Horcruxes, and logically, he knows everything will be okay. The students are prepared. They know what they’re doing. Kenma knows what he’s doing too, here in an empty classroom on a Sunday night.

He’s going to kill himself, and then he’s going to come back to life.

Kenma’s not afraid that he won’t come back to life. It’s the killing himself part that he has a problem with.

It just takes one sip, he tells himself. _Just one sip, one tiny sip, come on, Kenma, you can do this_ \-- but he can’t. He feels like he can hear the blood rushing past his ears and his heartbeat ricochets through the empty room so loudly it’s almost deafening. 

Kenma slots the vial back over the fire before he can drop it, and sinks to his knees, one palm to the cold ground. _Just one sip, just one sip_ — 

There’s a tap on the window, startling him from his silent prayer. Kenma jerks up, glancing towards the sound, and sees Kuroo’s cupid-dwarf standing there. He feels a choked sort of laughter bubble out from his chest as he stands, feet somehow steady beneath the weight of his emotions. He stares incredulously at the dwarf, paper wings and harp in tow, perched on the window ledge like he had been the first time Kenma had seen him. 

Kenma hesitates for a moment, and then he goes over to open the window.

“Hey.” He says, before the dwarf can sing anything. “Can you send Kuroo a message from me?”

 

-

 

Kuroo shows up ten minutes later, when Kenma is tucked into a small ball, staring at the flames, watching the bubbles in the small potion vial rise and fall.

“What’s this?” Kuroo asks, sounding apprehensive. He’s wearing a dark beanie over his head, and it makes him look good, it makes his eyes stand out against his pushed down hair, and Kenma can’t stop looking at him. It’s a Great Battle beanie, and it reads ‘love will get us through’ with a tiny gold plate with the year on it beneath the words.

“Why are Hogwarts students so sappy.” Kenma says, distracted. Snorting, Kuroo drops to the floor beside Kenma, repeating his question.

“Oh. It’s the Horcrux.” Kenma says, tearing his gaze away from the sharp gold eyes and dark hair, and Kuroo jumps, startled.

“No, it’s fine.” Kenma says quickly. “It’s not dangerous. It’s— I just need to drink it.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrow. “You need to drink the Horcrux?”

“Huh?” Kenma says. “No, I mean, I’m the Horcrux. Voldemort put a part of his soul in me when he tried to kill me as a baby. I brewed this to kill it.”

Kuroo looks unimpressed. He crosses his arms. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well.” Kenma says, chewing on his bottom lip. “To kill that part, I’ll technically be killing myself too. Just for awhile, but, um, I’ll have to die.”

Kuroo stares, eyes flashing dark. He’s angry, and for a second Kenma wishes he hadn’t called Kuroo at all. Kenma’s tongue tastes like sawdust. He should have left Kuroo at the battle, he can do this by himself.

“Merlin, Kenma.” Kuroo says. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Kenma shrugs. His scarf feels rough against his skin, and he ignores the itch, casting his eyes back to the red vial so he won’t have to look at Kuroo’s face. “It’s nothing.” He says. “The potion is fine. I just have to drink it. I’ll be okay in a few hours." 

“A few hours.” Kuroo repeats dryly. “Tell me, you didn’t think about what would happen if someone discovered your dead body in an empty classroom the night of the Great Battle?”

“I wrote a note.” Kenma says, pointing to a small white square on the desk.

Kuroo gives him a wary look and stands, going over to the other side of the table to pick up the tiny piece of paper. It’s a Madam Pudifoot’s receipt for mint tea and a caramel apple.

“Other side.” Kenma mumbles into the fabric of his jeans.

Kuroo flips it over. “To whoever finds me, I’m not dead. Just leave me alone. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Kuroo reads. “What the hell is this, Kenma, I write grocery lists with more emotion than this.” 

Kenma yanks his scarf off. It feels too tight, suffocating.

“Look, you don’t have to be here.” Kenma says. “I didn’t mean to call you. You can go.”

Kuroo closes his eyes and his expression changes so suddenly it would be impressive if Kenma wasn’t so upset. When Kuroo opens his eyes again, his face is soft and he sinks down onto his knees beside Kenma. “I’m not angry at that. Well, I kind of am, because you wrote the worst note in history— but mostly I’m angry because you were going to kill yourself in an empty classroom, all alone, and you thought I wouldn’t care.”

“That’s not—” Kenma begins, and cuts himself off.

“It’s not like that.” Kenma says instead. “I’m just. Used to being by myself.”

Kuroo sighs, nudging his knees into Kenma’s side. Kenma doesn’t move away, so they sit there in silence, Kenma pointedly avoiding Kuroo’s eyes. Eventually, Kuroo releases a long breath, propping his elbow on the desk to stare at the potion. 

“Alright then. Let’s look at what we have. Firstly, this should not be in a vial.” Kuroo says. “When has drinking anything from a vial ever been fun?” Very carefully, he conjures the vial into a clear shotglass without spilling a single drop of the red liquid. 

“Much better. Here.” Kuroo says, sliding the glass over to Kenma. It’s cool against Kenma’s fingers. “Throw it back, like this, it’s just like taking a shot of firewhiskey.”

“I’ve never had a shot of firewhiskey.” Kenma admits.

Kuroo laughs, but it doesn't sound too surprised. “Never? We have a lot of things to work on.” 

“It’s overrated.” Kenma says, lifting the shotglass to his eye level. “Heard it tastes like acid.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” Kuroo replies with a smile. It makes Kenma forget he’s supposed to be afraid. It feels strangely routine, the way Kenma looks at Kuroo and learns to forget, learns to want _more_ , and Kuroo just gives without asking for anything in return, and Kenma keeps telling himself, _later_.

Kenma lets his empty hand fall, wanting to say something, to reach out and touch him, say with his fingers what his heart has been trying to tell him the whole time. “Kuroo, I—”

Kuroo grants him a faint smile, the one that Kenma has come to recognize as reserved for Kenma alone, and it scrapes over every inch of Kenma’s heart. Everything he has to say dies on his lips. 

“Shh.” Kuroo says. “We’ve got time. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Kenma looks away, his face burning, lifts the glass to his lips and throws it back. 

It’s just like taking a shot of firewhiskey.

 

-

 

Kenma wakes to the sound of running water. He closes his eyes again, shifting on his strange new pillow and the sound continues in the semi-darkness, pitter-patter of raindrops against the glass. It takes a long moment of not being able to fall asleep before Kenma’s memories return to him, dazed sleepiness sliding into sudden, startled awareness.

Kenma sits up and nearly takes out Kuroo’s jaw.

“Hey.” Kuroo says, and Kenma scrambles backwards when he realizes he’s been fast asleep on Kuroo’s lap. It’s dark outside and Kenma’s body is still warm from where it was pressed against Kuroo’s, both of them tucked together in Kenma’s bed.

“Voldemort.” Kenma says quickly, reaching for his wand as he half-retreats, half-falls out of bed. Kuroo doesn’t move, entire body casual and relaxed, one arm draped over Kenma’s pillows. The sight makes Kenma’s stomach do a backflip.

“Voldemort is gone.” Kuroo says. “Futakuchi came in about a couple of hours ago, the huge Hufflepuff with him. They brought out a whole crate of Firewhisky to celebrate. The castle’s a little bit messed up, but everyone’s alright.” 

“Did Lev kill Voldemort?” Kenma asks.

Kuroo snorts. “I don’t know. Someone did.”

Kenma closes his eyes again. The rush of adrenalin is dying away, replaced with something that feels like disbelief. From somewhere in the castle, he can hear the muted sounds of raucous laughter and talking, a party well underway. He listens for a little while, genuinely glad for them.

“He’s really gone.” Kenma says.

“Yeah.” Kuroo says. He straightens Kenma’s favourite blue blanket, spreading it out over the bed. “Come on. Get back here. You must be exhausted.” 

Kenma hesitates over the edge of the blanket, thumbing at the soft fabric.

“I’m not going to do anything.” Kuroo says. “I can see you thinking from all the way here. Just lie down.”

Awkwardly, Kenma climbs back onto his four-poster bed, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. The bed feels too big somehow, every cell in his body urging him to roll over, to close the gap between them. Kenma is starting to feel overwhelmed by it, but before he can pull out of bed and sleep in Akaashi’s bed instead, Kuroo shifts beside him, pressing the entirety of their arms together.

“Better?” Kuroo asks. “Don’t be afraid of me, Kenma.”

Kenma turns to his side, blinking at Kuroo, a fraction of space between them. Kuroo blinks back. Warm, Kenma rolls onto his back again, pulling the blanket over his head. Their shoulders never stop touching. Kuroo gives a contented hum, and when Kenma glances over at him, his head is tilted towards the window, watching the rain, and he’s so beautiful it hurts.

“Kuroo?” Kenma whispers. He’s watching the way Kuroo’s lips look, tracing the silver of moonlight around the outline of his face, and wondering if Kuroo kisses like he talks, both fierce and gentle at the same time. 

“Mm?”

“You have to start studying for your NEWTs now.” Kenma says, because he _can’t_.

If Kuroo is surprised by the sudden choice in conversation, he doesn’t show it.

Instead, “Huh.” Kuroo whispers back, like the thought has just occurred to him, but his voice is still soft and even, as if he doesn’t mind at all. “I guess I do.” 

Somewhere in between Kuroo’s steady heartbeat and the sacred darkness of the room, Kenma slips back into dreams effortlessly, like he’s been dreaming the entire time.

 

-

 

When Kenma wakes up again, he’s alone in his bed in the Ravenclaw dormitory. He sits up, glancing around the room. Sunlight is pouring through the window, and it’s early enough that the patch of yellow light isn’t uncomfortably warm. Kenma picks up Ennoshita’s golden egg clock, which primly squawks at him that it’s nine in the morning.

Kenma gets dressed slowly, glancing periodically out the window. The world is safe today, Kenma thinks. The world will be safe for a very long time. It’s a nice thought.

Almost twenty minutes have passed before Kenma finally shoves his wand into his pocket and heads for the Great Hall. Kuroo was right, the castle is slightly weathered, bits of debris hanging from the walls and ceilings, several of the stairs missing steps, but as the din coming from the Great Hall grows louder, Kenma’s sure none of the students have been hurt too badly. 

Kenma pokes his head through the open double doors, trying his best not to be noticed.

Nishinoya and Tanaka are doing an interpretive dance piece around Azumane Asahi as he stands there and trembles, seventh-year Sugawara Koushi is feeding slices of bacon to Sawamura, Hinata is chatting excitedly with Lev and a grumpy dark-haired boy. Yachi is relaying her story about slaying Nagini to a riveted crowd of Slytherin fifth-years and at the center of the table, where Kenma’s supposed to sit, Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Bokuto are throwing food at one another.

With the help of the ruckus, Kenma’s already sitting down before most of the students even notice him. Futakuchi reaches around his Hufflepuff friend to clap Kenma on the shoulder, and Hinata shoves himself into the seat beside Kenma, but aside from several smiles, no one else stops to fuss over Kenma. Kenma’s almost happy, except—

“Where’s Kuroo?” Ennoshita asks, looking around the table, confirming Kenma’s subtle glance to make sure he hadn’t missed the Ravenclaw.

“I saw him heading to an empty History of Magic classroom with a huge stack of paper this morning.” Hinata says around a mouthful of potatoes. “Maybe now that you’ve defeated Voldemort he’s finally taking his NEWTs seriously.”

Absently, Kenma notices that there is a serving tray of apple-pies right in front of his plate. Kenma spears himself a slice, prodding at it with his fork.

“Oh. That’s good for him.” He says to Hinata, and catches sight of Oikawa looking over at him past Iwaizumi’s shoulder, lips pursed.

NEWTs are important, Kenma almost says defensively. Important enough that Kenma had brought it up last night, Kenma thinks, hating himself, and every last feeling of warmth inside Kenma fizzles out.

Kenma shoves a forkful of pie right off his plate.

“Kenma-chan—” Oikawa says, and Kenma bites down on his tongue.

“It doesn’t matter.” Kenma says. “Don’t.”

Oikawa frowns, opening his mouth to speak, but his gaze catches on something behind Kenma and he ends up gaping like a goldfish.

A second later, there is a tap on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma turns warily and finds himself nearly nose-to-nose with an oversized cupid with golden wings and a harp.

“Hi,” Kuroo says, winking at Kenma with the brightest grin, “I have a singing telegram for Kozume Kenma.”

Kenma stares, aghast, looking Kuroo up and down.

“You look ridiculous.” Oikawa says, none too kindly. “Don’t indulge him, Kenma-chan. Now that you’ve saved the world, you definitely don’t have to settle for this Flobberworm.”

“I woke up early this morning to make the wings. Do you like them?” Kuroo asks Kenma, and turns so the table can admire, or judge, in this case, his paper wings.

“Where’s your dwarf?” Kenma asks.

“I set him free. Apparently it’s against the law, did you know that?” Kuroo says. He twirls again, earning giggles from the other students, but even basking in the attention, Kuroo’s gaze is only on Kenma. “What do you think?”

Kenma thinks, ‘ _I am so hopelessly and unfortunately in love with you_.’

And then he thinks, _I just saved the world, I can do this_ , pulls Kuroo down by the tie, and kisses him.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the greatest battle we ever fight will be the one we fight for love_  
>  The Great Battle, 2016


End file.
